


Give My Regards to Bill Denbrough

by Arach



Category: IT (2017)
Genre: 1980s, 1990s, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Boys In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Miscommunication, One Shot, Post-Break Up, Reconciliation, School Reunion, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-30 05:39:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12647202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arach/pseuds/Arach
Summary: Everyone else had a date to prom but him. Not that he minded. Stanley Uris was perfectly content to spend prom night by himself.Until there's an incessant knocking on his door by the one and only Bill Denbrough. His best friend. His crush.Things spiral from there.





	Give My Regards to Bill Denbrough

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I was given a song last week and it's taken me awhile to figure out what I wanted to write based on it, but it gave me major 80's school dance vibes so that's what inspired the beginning and end. The middle was made up on the spot oops. Anyways, still getting the hang of these characters so I hope they aren't OOC and yes, Bill's stutter is written out. There's also a cameo character from another franchise, it's pretty obvious but kudos to y'all that figure out who it is.
> 
> Song Inspo: [No More Lonely Nights by Paul McCartney](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tGI9CUbqNSQ)
> 
> As always, happy reading!

It’s prom night and Stanley Uris is home alone, nose buried in a book and the TV playing some infomercial about a new kitchen gadget. After re-reading the same paragraph for the umpteenth time, he sighs and slides the bookmark back in place before setting it down next to him.

He wasn’t left by himself deliberately. But Ben had asked Bev, Richie asked Eddie, Mike asked his lab partner (a pretty nice guy named Will), and Bill got asked by some girl in his English class.

All of them had dates. He didn’t. It only made sense that he wouldn’t bother spending money on a dance where his friends would be too busy enjoying the night with other people.

So, on the biggest night of a teen’s high school life, Stanley Uris lay sprawled on his couch, counting the ticks of the clock’s second hand or going through the list of birds he’d seen that month. It wasn’t the most exciting thing to do, but it kept his mind occupied and that was all he needed.

It’s when the ticking becomes maddening and the list ends that his thoughts wander to dangerous territory.

Stan thinks back to the beginning of the night. He thinks about Bill’s fumbling with his tie before Stan laughed at him and took the matter into his own hands. He thinks about how his fingers trembled the slightest bit as he tied the black silk because the proximity was too much; he could smell cologne and something indescribable but distinctly _Bill_.

He stubbornly tries to avoid thoughts about how handsome Bill looked in his suit or the blinding smile he’d given him before driving off to pick up his date.

“Nice one, Stanley. Crushing on your straight best friend,” he says aloud to himself to drown out the sound of his heart breaking all over again. It was ridiculous, harboring a three-year unrequited love for someone so important to him and never doing a single thing about it. But they were graduating soon and that was where their paths diverted.

Bill would find success in his writing because he was passionate and talented and Stan loves hearing the stories he weaves out of thin air.

Stan would stick to the expectations his parents set for him because plans kept him sane, made him feel secure, and he knew he could easily get caught up in Bill’s whirlwind of a presence.

It scared him a little bit.

The thought of not having Bill as a constant in his life anymore brings tears to his eyes and before he knows it, his cheeks are wet. His body is shaking with choked back sobs as his hands cover his face. The intensity of his emotions buzz in his ears so loudly that he doesn’t hear the knocking on his front door until it becomes louder and more persistent.

“Stan!”

He sits up, still sniffling, and stares at the door. Great, he’s hallucinating Bill’s voice now. Using his sleeves to wipe away his tears and, with slight hesitation, the snot dripping from his nose, he freezes when he hears Bill shout again.

“Stan! Are you home?”

He scrubs at his face again as if it would magically erase any evidence of his breakdown and tries to calm his breathing. It takes a few seconds before he decides that he’s strong enough to face whatever’s banging on his door.

(Because he refuses to believe it’s Bill. Stupidly beautiful Bill who’s having the time of his life at prom with a pretty girl who’s nothing like him.)

His red-rimmed eyes lock with Bill’s concerned gaze and he quickly looks away, unable to deal with the way his emotions flare up whenever he’s reminded of how much Bill does care for him.

(Because he knows that Bill cares and that Bill loves him, but not in the way Stan did and he wasn’t sure if that hurt more than Bill not caring at all.)

“Are yuh-you o-okay, Stuh-Stan?”

“What are you doing here, Bill? Did your date get tired of the dance?” He pointedly ignores the question and falls a little bit more in love when Bill doesn’t push for him to answer.

“N-no. S-Stacy’s still duh-dancing. But s-suh-something felt wr-wruh-wrong and I w-w-wuh-wanted to make sure yuh-you w-w-weren’t hurt.”

Stan listens patiently as Bill stumbles over the W’s and fights back the blush threatening to color his cheeks at the fact that Bill left the dance for _him_. He left his date behind because what? Fate decided to play a cruel joke and tell Bill that he was hurting? That he was aching for the chance to be in Stacy’s place, in Bill’s arms as they swayed to the beat of some song he didn’t know but Bill probably did because he was more attentive to music than Stan was.

“Thanks for the concern, Billiam, but I’m fine. Just numbing my mind with some pointless TV,” he jokes, hoping his small smile doesn’t look as forced as it feels.

He waits for Bill to bring up the remnants of dried up tears or to leave now that Stan’s gave him some kind of reassurance.

What he doesn’t expect to happen is for Bill to drag him out onto the porch and, oh, how the hell did he not notice the music softly playing from the boom box by Bill’s feet?

Bill, with one hand still holding onto Stan’s wrist, reaches down to move the boom box so it’s not taking up as much space. Stan’s skin is burning, not just where Bill is touching, and the heat seems to have dried his throat because he can’t speak, only watch Bill turn up the volume.

_No more lonely nights  
No more lonely nights_

He didn’t recognize the song, of course, but he could vaguely pinpoint the singer. It was one that he knew Bill liked listening to on more than one occasion.

“Bill, wha-“

He can’t finish his sentence because suddenly Bill’s holding onto both of Stan’s wrists and placing them gingerly on his shoulders. His hands settle on Stan’s waist and Stan unconsciously laces his fingers behind Bill’s head.

He knows that his face must be aflame and he’s awkward as he tries to concentrate on moving with Bill. It becomes impossible to think straight because he’s hit again with that indescribable scent and how warm he is despite the cool breeze that ruffles their hair. So he lets Bill lead, swaying and spinning to the beat.

_You’re my guiding light  
Day or night I’m always there_

“What are you doing, Bill?” Stan asks, voice barely above a whisper. He’s afraid of the answer he’s going to get, but he needs to know before he digs himself into a deeper hole.

“I don’t know,” Stan’s breath hitches as Bill leans forward, foreheads pressed together and lips mere inches apart, “B-buh-but it f-fuh-feels… _right_.”

Sparks don’t fly, electricity to shock his system, but when Stan finally dives into the pool of want he’d been dipping his toes into for three years, he feels complete.

 

* * *

 

They don’t tell the others. Not because they don’t trust them, but because Bill’s never felt this strongly for someone before and Stan still can’t believe he can cuddle up with the man of his dreams every night.

He’s also not as bold as Richie and Eddie or as strong as Mike. They can stand up to the homophobic slurs and fight back when someone decides to push them around. Stan, on the other hand, flinches when he sees someone from school or when he hears _faggot_ yelled across the street. On those days, it takes lying in bed wrapped around Bill and exchanging lazy kisses to ease the tension from his shoulders.

(Bill doesn’t comment on Stan’s methodic tapping against his chest or how he mumbles incoherently under his breath when he closes his eyes because eventually warm brown looks up at him through long eyelashes and he tightens his arms around his boyfriend.)

They’re pretty sure the others catch on though because after prom night they’re attached at the hip, more so than what they were all used to. When they walk up to their friends huddled up at their booth in Derry’s only diner, they’re openly showing support through bright smiles and twinkling eyes. It throws Stan off kilter for a second and he can feel the familiar claws of insecurity scratching up his back before it’s replaced by the soothing pressure of Bill’s hand.

He relaxes, unknowingly leaning against Bill because he can’t help but gravitate towards his boyfriend, and enjoys the company of his friends.

It’s the best summer he’s had in a while.

 

* * *

 

And then it all comes crashing down.

Bev got into college in Chicago and Ben got into one in Wisconsin. They’d already left to settle into their dorms after a teary goodbye from Ben and a good luck punch on the shoulder from Bev. They all got hugs from the both of them.

Richie and Eddie decided to take a gap year. They were going to see what the rest of America had to offer and left in the same manner as Ben and Bev. Eddie wasn’t even reluctant with his hugs. Sure, it was quick but also strong and Stan could still feel the overwhelming platonic love that Eddie never verbally shared.

Mike went with Will to see his family in Indiana before they came back to Derry for college. Stan found them to be a sickeningly sweet couple and the way Will hesitated before Stan pulled him into a hug only accentuated that fact.

With all their friends now out of Maine, Stan’s the only one at the airport to see Bill off. He still had a few days before he needed to head down to Atlanta.

“Don’t let the jetlag hit you too bad and _please_ don’t come back with an accent. Stuttering Bill’s going to become British Bill when Richie gets wind of it. And—“

Bill cuts him off with a soft, closed mouth kiss. He smiles into it and can feel Bill’s lips curling up in response.

“Rambling again?” Stan asks when Bill pulls back, his hands still cupping Stan’s face and his thumb gently swiping across his cheek.

“Ruh-rambling again, b-babe. Besides, I d-don’t th-thu-think an accent and st-stuh-stutter mix.”

“I don’t know, might sound kind of cute.”

He knows it’s a cheesy thing to say but the chuckle that it elicits from Bill is worth it. The PA system crackles to life as a voice announces the boarding of Bill’s plane. Stan mimics Bill’s stance, bringing his hands up to grab his boyfriend’s face and pull him into a fierce kiss.

He closes his eyes and hopes it’ll stop the tears threatening to fall. When he moves back, forehead pressed against Bill’s and eyes wide open, he can’t help but let out a watery laugh.

“Don’t cry, please. I’m going to start crying.”

Bill, with tears clinging onto his eyelashes and lips quivering, simply smiles and leans in. Before their lips could touch, the PA system booms and they both know it’s time to let go. Bill drops his hands and holds onto the handle of his suitcase, his other hand hiking his carry-on higher onto his shoulder. Stan drops his hands seconds after and hides them behind his back so Bill doesn’t see the crescent shapes he’s carving into his palm.

(The sting helps him control the wave of sadness washing over him and he knows Bill would be on his ass about it. It’d ruin their goodbye, taint the moment that would get him through months without waking up next to Bill, so of course he hides it.)

He watches Bill walk away and it hurts seeing the silhouette of his boyfriend starting to fade. The shout escapes his throat before he even realizes it.

“Bill!”

Bill turns slightly, looking over at his shoulder, and Stan doesn’t need to be able to see him clearly to know that he’s got a questioning eyebrow raised.

“I—“ _love you_ gets caught between his teeth and Stan doesn’t think he can choke it out. They’d never said those three words to each other, not even before they were dating, because they just _knew_. They felt the pleasant platonic love when they’d become best friends and they’d felt the burning romantic love when they’d kiss for the umpteenth time.

It’s the next step for them. But something’s tugging at the back of Stan’s mind and telling him that that step’s not meant to be taken when Bill’s about to spend years an ocean away from him.

So he doesn’t say it.

“Call me when you land!”

It’s enough.

 

* * *

 

On his way back to his car, he feels his phone vibrate in his back pocket. He pulls it out, still walking and only half aware of his surroundings. It would suck if a car decided to come zooming towards him now.

**From Billiam: check ur glove compartment**

Stan practically flies into his car after he reads the text. He tosses his phone into the passenger before he fumbles with opening the glove compartment. It’s stuck, the gear stick is jabbing into his side, and he’s muttering curses when finally, it opens and something falls out onto the floor.

He quickly leans down to grab it and comfortably settles into the driver seat before properly looking at it.

The object nearly drops to the floor yet again when Stan’s hands start to shake.

It’s a cassette with Bill’s messy scrawl on the label.

“For when you miss me,” Stan reads aloud, voice soft with awe and raw with varying emotions. It doesn’t take him long to slam the car door shut and shove the cassette into the player. There’s static for a moment before the music starts and Stan’s so surprised he forgets how to breath.

_I can wait another day  
Until I call you_

It’s their song. From prom night.  
  
And Bill’s _singing_. There’s no stutter, his voice is silvery and smooth. Stan is melting into his seat; the tears he’d been holding back before now freely flowing. It’s hard to send a text as his vision is blurred, but he manages to send two.

**To Billiam: Thanks for the warning asshole.  
To Billiam: I miss you already.**

Stan sets his phone back in the passenger seat. No need to anxiously wait for a reply, the plane would’ve taken off by then.

Instead he closes his eyes and dreams of lithe arms around him as they sway to the beat.

 

* * *

 

Long distance proves to be as difficult as Stan thought it would be.

They manage to last for two years.

Two years of continuous calls and texts and, in the very early stages of their long distance relationship, visits from Bill or vice versa. After that, the calls stop and the texts are sparse or filled with _sorry, can’t talk right now_.

Stan knows it’s because Bill’s busy with school and having a breakthrough with the novel he’s been working on. He knows because that was Bill’s reason for missing a call or texting late. Stan can’t even blame him. He’s been busy trying to stay at the top of his classes and doing his duties as both president of the bird watching club (they often went on little expeditions out of state) and treasurer of the student union.

He listens to the cassette religiously, often falling asleep to Bill’s voice as if it were a personalized lullaby (perhaps it was). But then there’s two months of little contact that turns into six months and then Stan’s phone is on the ground because it slipped from his hands. There’s a haunted expression on his face.

**_We're sorry; you have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this recording in error, please check the number and try your call again._ **

That’s it. He had no other way to contact Bill except through letters and he didn’t have time in his schedule to send those anymore. He stares blankly at the wall, body numb and a sour taste in his mouth. He wants to scream, break things, cry until his eyes feel like they’ve shriveled up.

But most of all, he wanted Bill and of course, even with his heart shattered it still yearned for the best person he ever had the pleasure of knowing.

He doesn’t know what to do, so his brain does a factory reset.

He follows the plan laid out by his parents.

And he keeps the cassette hidden away in the back of his closet.

 

* * *

 

**DERRY HIGH SCHOOL REUNION  
CLASS OF ‘93**

Stan looks up at the banner with scrutiny. These things are supposed to happen in ten years, but Derry’s always been an odd, little town. It doesn’t surprise him that they’ve decided to hold it five years later instead.

What was he doing here?

Dances weren’t his thing. The reminder makes him want to turn around, ready to go back to his hotel and finish his book, when an arm is thrown around his shoulder.

“Stan the man! Is that a mustache?” Before he knows it, Richie Tozier is in front of him, fingers wiggling in front of his face. Stan scoffs and slaps his hand away, the corners of his lips curling up in a fond smile. He hadn’t really kept in touch with any of his friends. Sometimes he’d get a postcard from Richie and Eddie about their latest hot spot or a letter from Ben about what him and Bev were up to. Mike and Will liked to call from time to time.

But it wasn’t consistent and with Richie in his arms, giving him a hug reminiscent of when they’d split all those years ago, the longing to be with his friends again hit him like a train wreck. It hurt and he’s grateful that Richie keeps his mouth shut when Stan clutches a little too tightly to his shirt.

They eventually break apart and Richie’s tugging at his arm.

“C’mon, Stanny, gotta get this show on the road! My darling Eddie spaghetti’s waiting for me inside.”

“If Eddie’s inside, what are you doing out here? I don’t think I saw him walk passed me?”

“Smoke break.”

Stan rolls his eyes and he opens his mouth to tell him how bad smoking is when someone else steals the words right from him.

“Smoking kills, Rich, and I’m pretty sure Eddie’s asthma agrees.”

He knows that voice. He used to follow it blindly, wake up to it, fall asleep to it. But there’s no stutter, so maybe he’s wrong.

He focuses on the way Richie exaggeratingly squints before throwing his hands up in the air and his suspicions are confirmed.

“Billy bob my boy! Good to see ya partner,” he says in a thick, southern accent and tipping an imaginary hat, “Eds’ free of asthma now so I can puff ‘til I’m coughing my lungs up.”

Stan can’t bring himself to turn around and he hopes Richie doesn’t notice the way he tenses up when Bill’s laughter rings in his ears. It’s as he remembered it only deeper, more mature, and that drives a knife into his heart.

It’s been two years since that fateful day in his dorm room. He still hears the robotic voice telling him the number was disconnected, he remembers all the lovers he left after a few days because they didn’t trace patterns on the back of his hand when he was feeling especially anxious or they didn’t stumble over W’s and S’s.

He’d learned to stop comparing everyone to Bill but with the man only a few feet behind him, the wound felt fresh. As if it was just yesterday that he’d been cut off by someone who he could’ve called the love of his life.

He’s so lost in memories that he doesn’t notice Richie leaving and Bill taking his place.

“Stan?”

Bill places a hand on his shoulder and Stan immediately pulls away, putting distance between them. Hurt flashes across Bill’s face and crescent moons are kissing his palms because he can feel anger bubbling within him. What right does Bill have to be _hurt_ when he was the one to cut ties?

“Don’t. You don’t get to touch me, Bill Denbrough.”

“Stan, I—I’m sorry. I got so caught up with finishing my novel without falling behind in my classes and then it got published and there were appearances, interviews, it was overwhelming.” Bill’s talking rapidly, a tactic he found to be sort of useful in not stumbling over letters.

“So overwhelming that you had to disconnect your phone? That you couldn’t be bothered to try contacting me again?” Stan’s dripping venom and it takes all his willpower to not spit out something he knew he’d regret later.

Even now, he aches for Bill to hold him and tell him everything’s okay.  
But he’s been pissed off for two years and it’s hard to temper it down.

He can see the guilt clear as day in Bill’s eyes and it’s all the answer he needs.

“This conversation is over.”

Stan stomps towards the high school’s front doors, bumping Bill’s shoulder when he does. He ignores Bill’s cries for him to stop and makes it to the top of the steps before there’s a hand wrapped around his wrist.

“Stan, w-w-wuh-wait. Please, j-just, l-luh-listen to m-me.”

He curses his damn weakness for Bill’s stutter when he yanks his arm out of Bill’s grip and instead of storming away he turns around, arms dramatically folded across his chest.

Bill gets the hint that he doesn’t want to be touched, but still steps forward, leaving a small amount of distance between him.

“I never st-stuh-stopped th-thinking about y-yuh-you. I—I tried to... I tried c-cuh-calling for m-muh-months a-and w-w-wuh-when no one a-answered I knew I sc-scruh-screwed up. I d-duh-didn’t w-wah-want to l-lose you.”

Stan watches as Bill’s face scrunches up and he knows that it’s because Bill’s annoyed with himself, with his stutter, and he softens up a little because this was still his best friend. It always got bad to the point of frustration when he was overly emotional and if Bill was at the same intensity as Stan at the moment, he needed all the reassurance.

Uncrossing his arms, Stan reaches out and places his hands over Bill’s. Just like it was habit for Stan to carve crescents into his skin, Bill would create fists as if he could figuratively punch the words out of his throat.

“I should’ve tried harder too. I was just so upset and heartbroken, I hid away my phone and got a new one along with a new number. Dramatic, I know,” he adds the last part because he can feel Bill’s urge to laugh at his ridiculousness.

“You w-w-were al-wuh-ways a drama queen.”

Stan snorts and let’s go of Bill’s hand to lightly punch him in the shoulder.

“Watch it, Denbrough, or you’re not getting a dance from me.”

There’s still unease in the pit of stomach. He’s afraid for what’ll happen after the night ends. He had just gotten a steady job back in Atlanta and Bill no doubt had a life of his own in London.

He knows he won’t be able to handle losing Bill a second time.

But then Bill’s fingers are interlocked with his and he’s smiling that special smile that Stan only ever saw in the comfort of closed doors.

He lets himself be led into Derry High School.

 

* * *

 

The reunion’s in full swing when they get to the gym. Old classmates are mingling, old flames are making out in dark corners, and suddenly Stan‘s transported back to 1993. He feels seventeen again: young, rejuvenated, and scared to death about being beat up for holding his boyfriend’s hand.

(and when did he come to think of Bill as his boyfriend again?)

He’s on the verge of hyperventilating when the song changes to something familiar and there are lips pressed up against his ear, softly singing the lyrics. Once again, he lets Bill place his hands on his shoulders and turn his awkward shuffling into on-beat swaying.

Stan tries to calm down by focusing on the lilt of Bill’s voice.

 _May I never miss the thrill of being near you_  
_And if takes a couple of years_  
_To turn your tears to laughter_  
_I will do what I feel to be right_

He’s only slightly shorter than Bill, but he still leans his head forward so that he was practically snuggling into the crook of Bill’s neck. He’s much more relaxed than he was at the beginning of the night and there’s a tender smile stuck on his face.

“What are we doing, Bill?” He asks and beneath the nostalgia of the question, there’s a seriousness that conveys their obvious need to talk about it.

Bill squeezes Stan’s waist briefly and he understands the silent _later_ that accompanies the gesture.

“I don’t know, but it feels right.”

Tilting his head back up, Stan does a quick scan of the room. Mike’s in charge of music with Will tucked into his side whilst Ben and Bev as well as Richie and Eddie are also on the dance floor, oblivious to anyone but their significant other.

When Stan locks eyes with Bill’s, he knows the feeling.

“You know when you left for London and I said to call me when you land? That’s not what I wanted to say.”

“I figured. I would’ve called without you telling me.”

The song’s coming to an end and their swaying slows down a bit.

Stan stops a breath away from Bill’s lips, their eyes not breaking contact once and Stan questions for a moment why he feared getting lost in them.

“I love you.”

He kisses the _I love you too_ out of Bill’s mouth.

And he's home.


End file.
